


To fight, to die, to love

by audreyslove



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 04:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18563605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyslove/pseuds/audreyslove
Summary: A bit of canon divergence from 8x02, Brienne and Jaime share a few hours before battle with one another.  confessions are stated, feelings shared, virtue spilled, etc





	To fight, to die, to love

He is The Kingslayer, an oath breaker, an incestuous traitor. He is a Lannister through and through. He makes her question her morals and sanity and all that she thought she knew of the world. For he is good, honorable and so brave.

At first, she hated her body for betraying her. Hated the way her heart skipped ever so slightly when she saw him.

She’s always hated the fact that as strong as she could be physically she was so terribly weak for pretty men.

And she saw her feelings for him as a terrible weakness until the moment he stepped into that tub with her and told her why he broke his sacred oath and became The Kingslayer.

Things became more complicated then. He’s proven himself to be a worthy man, someone she regrets to admit she admires.

He is not just pretty. He’s a noble brave warrior and a kind person and her heart beats fast around him despite knowing she is not the type of woman Jaime Lannister would take to bed.

He has his share of pretty, petite maidens throwing themselves at him, he never seems interested in anyone. She knows about his sister and how she is most likely his greatest and only love. And it is sick and it wrong but she can’t help thinking how pretty and womanly Cersei is, and how Jaime must prefer women who are curvy and petite, beautiful and slight, nothing like her.

Brienne is tall and muscular, her features are homely, she is not fit for the pleasures of sex or marriage. It’s ridiculous that she even lets her heart hope for it, that she allows herself the fantasy of it.

She tells herself that the best she can hope for is to fight and die at his side. And now she realizes she is getting her wish.

Tormund is frustrating her on her last night in this world, paying too much attention and seemingly hitting on her. He is always after her, and not in a leering treacherous way nor in the way others look at her as if she were some sort of freak of nature they have a morbid curiosity in bedding. As unsophisticated as he might be, he seems to treat her like men treat ladies. Perhaps he wants one last fuck and as far as he’s concerned she’s the first one he can think of who might wish to share a bed with him.

But she has no particular need for sex because she is a virgin and it is their last night alive. She’s not that type of woman, and Tormund is not the type of man she would find herself giving up her virtue for.

Tormund is talking now, bringing up a sore subject now— that she will die having never been a knight. For all, she has done she would have been knighted by now if she had the right parts between her legs. She pushes the dream away and says she never wanted it, anyway.

It doesn’t appear one person in the room believes her.

I'm no king, but if I were, I would knight you 10 times over,“ Tormund promises. It sounds sincere and respectful, yet the sentiment is worthless ultimately.

“You don’t need a king. Any knight can make another knight.”

Her heart stops beating as he rises and draws his sword. The implication is clear.

She laughs it off, rolling her eyes, but he keeps prodding her, abd her body betrays her yet again, for she is walking toward him as he requested.

Other women dream of marriage and fairy tale happy endings, but for Brienne, this is her greatest goak in life, her dream moment, what she has seen her life leading to.

She kneels before the man she has tried so hard not to love as he raised the sword he made out of The Oathbreaker, the one she has the twin of.

"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave," Jaime says, tenderly touching her shoulder with the blade she will always see as a sign of their connection. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.” He looks at her with such sweetness that she finds herself melting. And she will not cry, she will never cry, but her heart might burst. “ Arise, Brienne of Tarth, a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms."

The men in the audience clap and cheer and toast to her, but all she can see is Jaime and his eyes, his beautiful, emotion-filled eyes that see her as she wants to be seen — a brave warrior, a woman of honor, someone deserving the title of Knight.

It’s better than him looking at her with lust in his eyes, really. Though she wouldn’t mind that either if were Jaime harboring such thoughts.

Right now she basks in the feeling of obtaining a childhood dream despite the fact she will die tomorrow.

At least she will die a knight.

The men chatter on, but Brienne only sees him, only hears him, only wishes for him.

Poderick’s voice is like a smooth, crisp bell, ringing out in beauty and truth. His song serenades her, grounds her. She looks to Jaime and finds him looking back at her with all that respect and all that love in her eyes.

“I suppose with no wine left we should prepare for battle. And perhaps get a wink of sleep,” Tyrion says.

She doesn’t want to leave Jaime for a second before death, but Tyrion is right and she must prepare so she can fight nobly, so she can die with honor.

Perhaps they will die together, but she doubts it. She thinks Jaime will survive somehow as he always does, he will grow old and find love and honor amongst the ashes of the Seven Kingdoms, she hopes.

She retreats to her bedchambers and wonders what an hours rest will do.

And then she hears a knock at the door.

“Ser Brienne,” she hears the familiar tone, and thank god for the wooden door, thank god he is safely behind it and cannot see the smile that spreads on her face at the sound of her name from his lips.

She schools those giddy expressions and composes herself, answering the door attempting to look thoroughly unaffected by his presence.

“Ser Jaime,” she smiles. “What do you wish?”

Jaime answers by pushing past her and entering her bed chambers as if he belongs there.

But he doesn’t.

“Ser Jaime, we must—“

“I am Jaime to you, always just Jaime,” he answers softly.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her heart pounding.

“We will die in a few hours. And I am not afraid of death, my good knight. But I do not wish to spend the last few hours I have alone. Not when every impulse inside me screams that I should be here with you instead.”

She cannot help but shiver.

“Do you wish to stay up talking strategy, or arguing over—“

“No, dare I say I do not want to talk at all,” Jaime tells her, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. “But I will talk all night if you wish it. Truth be told there are many honorable reasons for me to be here fighting with the North, giving my life for others. I don’t deny it. But I didn’t care about any of those reasons, truly. I came here _for you_.”

Her heart may stop, and this has never happened, no one has said such warm meaningful words to her and she cannot believe them.

He moves toward her and pleads, “I desperately do not wish to spend the last hours I have in life separated from the woman I love.”

But he can’t be serious. She snorts and laughs. “Ser Jaime—“

“Jaime,” he corrects.

“Jaime,” she gives him, and then she reminds herself she towers over him, that she is ugly and manly and he does not want her, despite how it sounds. “If you wish to find a home for your cock for the night—“

“Do not reduce me to that,” he says, for she’s insulted his honor, she knows that. “I have little time left with blood pumping through my veins. I have no time or reason to deny my feelings. Do you find yourself able to afford such luxuries?”

She doesn’t know whether she can afford herself anything. She’s denied herself this for so long she does not know what it feels like to let her guard down, even an ounce.

She was determined to die with her virtue intact, and yet he stands before her and makes her want to break every oath and crush every noble part of her she has if it means he is truthful if it means—

“In case you are unaware, I’ve fallen in love with you,” Jaime says as if he were telling her the weather.

She is puzzled and confused and part of her thinks it is a trick. The way young boys in the square teased her and made her think they liked her only to push her in the mud and laugh, to call her a bull, a cow, a beast.

Jaime is not those wicked children yet her instinct to treat this as a hoax are as strong as ever.

“What in the name of—“

“I don’t know how it happened. Perhaps because you’re the bravest woman I ever met. You’re the strongest, in character as well as physically. And of course, because you are beautiful.”

She snorts at that. Her nickname _Brienne the Beauty_ rings in her ears, and it never bothered her, it never did, it only bothered her that men can only judge a woman on the one aspect that they cannot control. “You’re drunk, Ser Jaime.”

“You are beautiful,” he insists. “I admit it’s not the common type of beauty. This is something deeper. Something that once you find, once you see it, it becomes so intoxicating you find yourself addicted to it. You are _that_ type of beauty, Ser Brienne.”

“You lie,” she breathes, though she does not believes that, not really.

Jaime’s face falls. “Why won’t you listen to me? Did you wish it to be Tormund who came knocking at your bedroom door? Have I—“

“I don’t wish Tormund,” she admits. “His attempts to win my virtue are exhausting.”

“You don’t believe it’s only your virtue he’s after, do you?” Jaime asks as if he pities her. “The man may have a horrible way of expressing himself and may do a terrible job at courting but I’m fairly certain he’s as in love with you as I am.”

She cannot speak.

“So you have your pick of suitors, Ser Brienne. You may choose one of us or none of us at all. Either way, I hope you grant me the right to die by your side when our time comes.”

“I’m not like the women you’ve been with—“

“I’ve only been with one woman,” he corrects. “And no, you are nothing like her and yet I want and love you all the same.”

“I’ve never been with a man,” Brienne says slowly.

“Have you been with a woman?” Jaime asks playfully, and she scowls at the question.

 

“I have never laid with _anyone._ Not from lack of desire or opportunity,” she informs, because she is Lady Brienne of Tarth and despite her hideous looks many men have wanted to bed her, to marry her, perhaps not for _her_ but for the conquest or the power that came with her, but the opportunity to be with a man has almost always been there. She just had no interest before Jaime. “I just… I did not want that type of distraction from my goals, from my studies.”

“And now?”

“I don’t regret ever denying myself the pleasure before. For now, I am a knight. And I will die one.”

He nods, looking a bit sheepish. “Well then, Ser Brienne, I will leave you.”

He’s halfway to the door when she finds the courage to call out, “I said I did not regret ever denying myself the pleasures _before,”_ She says, her voice stronger than she feels. “But now, hours before death, as a knight, I find no reason to abstain.”

He turns around wearing the expression she has felt ever since he confessed her feelings to her. It’s one of shock and disbelief, with a hint of anticipation, excitement.

Good. At least it’s not the smug expression she expected of him.

“Perhaps what I feel is not love,” Brienne says softly. “I just know I feel a connection, I feel a pull toward you, all the time. I wonder what you think, I seek and respect your opinion in the way I’ve never sought anyone else’s. I do not want to be parted from you.”

She leaves out the other aspects to her feelings. The way her heart beats around him, the way she dreams of him, how she thinks about him all the time, how she’s taken to fantasizing about him.

He doesn’t get to know such foolish, childish things.

“Whether it’s love or not, it’s enough for me,” Jaime smiles, walking back to her with a purpose.

She doesn’t know how to breathe, he’s approaching her as a man coming home to his wife after a battle, and her body freezes and just lets him lead.

His hand cups the back of her head as he draws her to his lips.

She’s never kissed anyone, and it’s terrifying and thrilling all at once.

She always thought it would be awkward, swapping spit with a man she was supposed to respect and admire, but the experience is not that at all.

It’s a spark of lightning that shocks within her, a warmth that spreads in its wake, his lips are soft, his hand guides but does force, his tongue caresses her as if she were gentle and precious. Her own hands grow bold as she explores his body. He is lean, athletic and muscular but not a man of bulk like The Hound or Tormund. She prefers this, actually, the fact she is broader and bigger than he does not upset her the way she thinks some women might be concerned over.

She starts to undress. She is still in her armor, Jaime too, and that simply won’t do.

“Let me do that,” Jaime murmurs.

He helps her remove the protective clothing, cannot quite get everything but manages. Brienne undoes her own boots and strips her until she is in a simple cloth shirt, something she lets no one see her in, for she is not a woman of simple clothes made from soft fabrics.

But it seems Jaime doesn’t agree, he looks at her as if she is even more beautiful without the armor he gave her.

She takes off her own boots and somehow feels small despite her considerable height.

“I have seen you barer than this,” he whispers, “and yet…”

He touches her with tenderness, a finger swiping across her cheek.

She did not think sex would be this, not with another fighter. She imagined it like sparring, a bit violent and passionate, painful and incredibly physical. Not that she dreaded it. She has always been fond of pain. It gives her a rush of adrenaline, she feels _alive,_ it’s always been satisfying in its own way to her.

But this not pain. This is nothing like fighting.

This is nothing like she’s ever known.

“Permit me the same honor?” she asks boldly, reaching for his armor.

“Of course,” he rasps.

She undresses him, removes his armor with grave care and respect.

The image of him nude is firmly planted into her mind. He is gorgeous, flawless, somehow, even with only one hand.

He is everything she could want in a man, in a partner, right down to the physical appearance, and the thought makes her feel womanly and silly yet blessed at the same time.

She helps him remove his boots last. And then they stand in only thin fabric covering themselves, and it is vulnerable yet freeing.

“I will make one final oath I will not break,” Jaime says, clasping his hand around both of hers, kneeling before her. “I pledge to never take you for granted again, to always love you, to fight alongside you, to give you my life, if need be. I give you my whole self, or what remains of it.”

She isn’t sure this is happening.  The threat of death mixed with her drink may have driven her to such realistic fantasies.  Or perhaps the fear of death has driven Jaime mad. But he’s not afraid of death, she knows that, he’s courageous and noble and not a man to mock or tease.

She urges him to his feet before telling him “I vow to do the same.”

He kisses her tenderly, softly, and she feels so stupid, so clumsy and ignorant. His hand is warm and touch her like he has the experience, and Brienne has had many experiences but she’s not ever had _this._

He is slow with her, when he reaches for the hem of her shirt, he lifts it as asking a question. Brienne can only nod, a sense of fear and anticipation setting her alive.

Her chest is bare for him, and it is nothing much, she is muscular and hard, her curves are underscored by manish muscles, but Jaime cups her breasts and kisses at her neck as if she were a woman, and she feels as such under his touch.

And not in a bad way, not in a weak way. She still feels strong, but appreciated the way she had always hoped a man would appreciate a wife.

She feels what she knows is his manhood, pressed firmly against her, and she knows enough about men to know what that means though it is still a shock to her that this is happening.

“I want you so badly,” he rasps, “but I won’t do this unless you are certain.”

“I am certain,” she says, though her voice is not her own. It is breathy and soft, she thinks he might laugh at her, but he does not.

“Lie down,” he directs.

He starts to take her trousers off, but of course, he cannot without assistance, not with one hand. she stills him for a moment. “You still have your shirt on yet wish me to be bare,” she states.

He chuckles. “You have a point.” He removes his shirt and follows her greedy eyes down his body, looking pleased but not overly smug. She is not his conquest, she can tell.

“Is this better?” He asks.

“Much,” Brienne answers, drawing him into a kiss.

She is less nervous now. Everything about this moment seems _right_ and _true_ and the perfect way to close out her life.

She is a knight, losing her virtue to a virtuous man before he proudly fights by her side.

This is a life worth living. A legacy to be proud of.

This time, when his hand reaches for her trousers she does not stop him; she helps him take them off instead.

That moment of shyness creeps up again as she catches him looking at her, swiping his hand from her breasts down her stomach, her able ripple under the light touch, but goosebumps also flare, the heat low in her belly intensifying.

Jaime’s hand draws lower, and she gasps at the feeling of his hand rubbing that sensitive place between her legs, before skimming down. dipping a finger through her sex.

“Oh,” he says, his eyebrows arching. “You are ready.”

She knows enough to know what he means, she is aroused and prepared for a man to enter her. He looks surprised. As if he doesn’t know how much he affects her.

“I’m not a blushing maid,” she whispers, “If you expected someone purer, more naive—“

“I do not wish anyone purer and certainly no one naive,” Jaime chuckles. “I like you as you are. Though…” he lowers himself to her, and — oh god — licks at her sex in a way that makes her shiver and shake. “I dare say you are _quite_ pure enough.”

She feels her cheeks heat against her own will. The will redden and Jaime will see just how new and inexperienced she is, he will second guess this whole thing, he will—

Her thoughts stop when he dips his finger inside her. He hisses, and she lets out a sound that might be described as a whimper.

He is good with his fingers, it seems.

She has touched herself before, but she’s never been able to experience pleasure from it, not from anything except grinding pressure against her clit.

But Jaime is good with his fingers. He slips in another finger and moves slowly at first, finding a spot that makes her feel that bolt of lightning again. She lets out a broken gasp, and then Jaime is doubling his efforts, moving ever so slightly faster with each stroke.

She feels pleasure growing, spreading, each stroke more intense.

Whenever she can bear to look down she sees Jaime, his eyes intently on her, his face the very picture of lust, and it’s all like some dream she would never permit herself to see through to the end.

“Gods,” she cries, her head lulling back as she grasps the bedding and vows that she won’t beg him, not for anything, not even for the orgasm he surely wants to give her, but she is so close, and it feels like he is deliberately slowing down, and…

She rocks into his hands, and he groans, her hips roll and her sex smacks against his palm, the sound is wet and loud and pleasuring, he quickens his pace, and she grits her teeth and soaks it in, soaks every ounce of the pressure building and growing inside her, until the dam breaks. She gasps and shudders as waves of relief crash over her, forcing herself to look at Jaime as she comes apart, for at this moment when her head is in the clouds, dizzy from her own release.

Jaime looks gorgeous for this angle, entirely focused on her. He has slowed his movements but hasn’t stopped, his eyes just on her sex as he groans and locks his jaw.

He looks up at her then, and she smiles sheepishly, lets out a little laugh. He does the same.

“You _are_ beautiful,” he repeats. “Everywhere.”

She is not beautiful, not to anyone. though perhaps she will admit there is something about her connection with Jaime that allows him to see something others do not, and she’s so grateful for it.

“Are you going to bed me, now?” she asks, trying to sound confident and bold. She sounds more flirtatious and teasing, but it has the right effect. Jaime laughs and looks down to his own tented breeches. “I am… I am quite certain I’m more than prepared to give you that.”

Brienne urges him up to kiss her. He does, rubbing at her back with that slow, skillful hand. He runs it down her spine and grabs at her rear as if he couldn’t help himself.

She did not think she wanted this, not truly, she thought if she had ever taken a lover she’d find she’d hate it.

But she was wrong. She wants this — wants him — very much.

She helps him take off his breeches (the laces are hard with one hand, he struggles but she pretends not to notice).

When he strips entirely, she finds him nude, looking much like that day in the baths although decidedly different in one way.

He’s aroused, so very much so, his manhood thick against his belly. She swallows hard at the sight of him.

“Are you sure this is—“

“I think you know exactly how sure I am,” Brienne says, finding that confident voice of hers. “And so are you.”

“Quite,” he admits, hovering over her and stroking himself once as he shivers.

“Gods I want you,” he groans, “So, so badly.”

“Jaime,” she whispers, she doesn’t know if he’s ever been as beautiful as he is now, and there have been so many beautiful moments, gods…

“I ache for you in the way I do for no other woman,” he rasps, “In a way I never will.”

Brienne shuts her eyes and soaks in the words, lets herself feel the weight of them while she can.

When she opens them again she finds Jaime preparing to guide himself inside her. He looks into her eyes, looking for permission, she thinks. She nods, whispers what she told herself she wouldn’t.

“Please.”

He bites his lip and nods. She feels him press against her, and it’s not bad, not at all, she is relaxed and very wet. Still, it’s more than she’s ever felt inside of her, and she is grateful for how slow and careful he is being, for she will gladly take the time to adjust to this strange new feeling.

“It’s good?” he asks in a breathy whisper.

It is… not unpleasant, not at all. But it’s not yet _good._ She doesn’t answer, instead asks him, “Is it good for _you?”_

 _“_ This is so heavenly, I cannot imagine the gods themselves have— Oh fuck!”

He sheaths himself inside her fully with a groan and then stills. He is _shaking,_ but not moving, he is withholding his instincts, his desires, for her comfort, for her pleasure.

That seems to melt any remaining tension inside her. She is not known as a woman afraid of pain, she can take a beating and Jaime knows it perhaps better than anyone. But he does not even want to spare her the momentary discomfort of _this_.

“You can move,” she whispers. “I won’t break, you know.”

“I do not think you will break, he promises. “I want to give you pleasure. There can be no pleasure if there is pain.”

Brienne will not debate but she finds this to be quite untrue. The painful things have brought her lots of pleasure. Jaime was once a painful thorn in her side, and look at the pleasure he brings her now.

Still, she breathes in and out slowly, to minimize any pain she might feel — for him, not for her. She urges him to move but does not force. This must be his decision, too.

On the first stroke, Jaime gasps, thrusting back in with more speed than she had thought and apparently he had wanted.

“M’sorry,” he mutters, breathing heavily, “You feel so good, I can’t quite control myself.”

But the next stroke hits up just a bit differently, punches something inside her that has spasming, clenching around him.

“Do that again,” she whispers. “Feels so good.”

He does, curses and nods.

She watches him as he moves inside her, watches his face redden and his teeth grit as he tries to muffle his cries and moans.

Because of _her._ He is worked up into a lustful frenzied over _her._

The thought rushes over her in a wave, and she lets herself enjoy this, his cock inside her hitting that place deep inside, his eyes eating her up, his heavy pants and moans music to hears, every sound and sight makes that building blooming pleasure grow more intense.

“Gods, Brienne, I…” she feels him slow down, and no, she can’t have that, she’s too close, she can.

She grabs at his hips, “Don’t stop,” she begs, please, more, I need—“

“It’s too good, he shudders, I can't, I won’t last, I…”

he trails off and then an idea must strike him. He braces himself on his right arm and reaches between them with his left hand.

His fingers dance and skate onto her lower belly and then find where she is now aching for him.

This, this is the pleasure she is familiar with, the type she’s given herself in weak times.

It seems Jaime has properly guessed that she needs a firmer touch because his finger press had against her clit and rub at her with the calloused, deliciously rough touch of a knight.

“Jaime!” she gasps. “That’s yes, harder, that’s so, so… oh!”

“Gods,when you say my name...” he moans, his hand still on her clit, rubbing right circles over her as he thrusts, a bit faster now.

He won’t have to worry about finishing before her, that is for certain. Because she feels herself soaring ever upwards, and she will reach that peak soon enough and come crashing down in the most pleasurable of ways.

“I’m, I’m going to, Oh!”

Sparks ignite under her skin, her blood pumps inside her hard and fast, and her body starts to feel like it does when she feels a cold wind, a tickle, a shiver down her spine, but more delightful and stronger, spreading over her body until she lets herself be swept entirely under by pleasure. Her body convulses, she feels herself spasm against his cock, hard and strong and there for every pulse of pleasure.

“That’s it, ride it out,” Jaime rasps, his voice all wanton and sexy, “Love the feel of you, like this, squeezing around me, so wet, so warm, gods what you do to me, feeling you come apart…”

Each word drips of sexuality and she drinks it in, does as he says and lets herself enjoy and punches of pleasure while she still has them, moaning and panting, gripping tightly at his back (close, she needs him closer).

“Oh my gods,” he cries out, his eyes shutting tight. “Brienne, my love, can I…?”

He doesn’t say the words but she knows the question just the same.

“Yes,” she groans, “I want you to, just for me. Jaime!”

She clenches around him and he shudders, whispers _I love you_ and spills into her with a stifled groan. Brienne is sure of little in this world but is completely convinced that no sound will ever be as beautiful as the one Jaime makes while climaxing inside her.

When it’s over, when the last of his orgasm leaves him, he nearly collapses next to her, struggling for breath and smiling as if he’s just been crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms.

She laughs, giddy and happy despite the end she is about to face.

“I don’t believe we’ve spared ourselves much time for sleep,” he teases.

“No,” Brienne agrees. “But we will have plenty of time for sleep when we are dead.”

”Too right,” Jaime nods. “We still have a few minutes, though. Lie with me until it is time to meet our fate?”

She doesn’t hesitate to answer, admitting, “There is nowhere else that I would rather be than at your side.”

They stay wrapped up in one another until the horns sound, and then scramble to prepare for the battle that they both know might end them.

Brienne has never feared death, but she’s always worried she might die before making her mark on this realm.

Now she is Ser Brienne of Tarth, the first woman to be knighted, the protector of Lady Sansa Stark, lover of the noblest of oathbreakers and Kingslayers that will ever walk the Seven Kingdoms.

Her mark has been made.

Death may come.


End file.
